Page 12 of Haven

He still doesn’t answer. I can feel the tension coming off him.

“Molly needs this. And it should be my call. The health of folks here is my responsibility.”

“And your safety ismyresponsibility.” His voice is low and rough, and he steps into me so he’s only a few inches away. “But okay. You and Miguel can go. But he’s going to get a lot of instructions before he leaves about how much risk he’s allowed to take to get under the rubble.”

I let out a breath of relief, ignoring the last comment. I’m not worried about that. Miguel might be Jackson’s right-hand man, but I’m sure I’ll be able to talk him into doing what I need him to do. After all, Miguel is one of the original teens. He loves Molly too.

“Tell Miguel we’ll leave after lunch,” I say as I turn to leave. “We should easily be able to get there and back before dark.”

***

AFTER LUNCH, I HEADto the garage and am shocked when I see Jackson loading a pack into the storage compartment of one of our two working ATVs. He’s wearing gray cargo pants and a black T-shirt and has all his extra weapons holstered.

“Where’s Miguel?” I ask as I approach.

“He turned his ankle on patrol this morning, so he can’t go.”

“Then I can go with Brett or Ham or someone.”

Jackson shook his head. “You think I trust them to stand up to you? Miguel is the only one who wouldn’t be bullied into doing something stupid. Since he can’t go, you’re stuck with me, unless you’ve changed your mind about this.”

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you, kitten, but you’ll be going with me.”

It isn’t the first time he’s called me kitten, and it isn’t any sort of endearment. I know exactly how he means it. Faintly mocking. He used the nickname for the first time when I was sixteen and furious with him. A cute, little fluff ball who is kind of funny extending her claws.

I talk myself out of showing him I’m angry and give him a cool, narrow-eyed look instead. “Fine. I don’t much care who goes with me. But if you’re coming, then please keep the attitude to yourself.”

The truth is I do care who comes with me. And I’m not quite as excited about the trip now that it’s Jackson. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my hands are a little shaky as I wait as Jackson checks the gas, straddles the seat, and straps his rifle into place.

He glances over at me. “Move your little ass.”

I get on behind him, scooting up against his back by necessity. I have to wrap my arms around his middle. My face is momentarily buried in his shirt, and I’m hit by the familiar, earthy scent of him.

Straightening up, I tell him, “Remember what I said about your attitude.”

Jackson puts the four-wheeler into drive. “Remember what I said about your ass.”

***

MY MIND ISN’T WORKINGat its quickest today. Or maybe I’m so used to Jackson’s gruff, rude remarks that the actual words he said don’t hit me until we’ve left the farm and driven about ten minutes down the dirt road that leads to the trail we always use when we’re traveling west.

Remember what I said about your ass.

For some reason, the memory of him saying it and the way he said it triggers my long-dormant sense of humor. I stifle a giggle. Then another one.

“What’s going on back there?” he demands.

I shift behind him, adjusting my hold on his waist. He’s not going all that fast at the moment, but the wind blows into my face the loose strands of hair that escaped my ponytail. “Nothing.”

His bad-tempered tone makes me laugh even more. This time I can’t smother it. I shake against him as I try to contain the laughter.

“What the hell? Are you having an asthma attack back there?” He slows down and glances back over his shoulder.

“No. Just thought of something funny.”

“What?” He turns his head again to peer at me. Our faces are only a few inches apart.

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